


The Perfect Reminder

by SilverSie



Series: Strange Magic Week 2016 [6]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Babies, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, Strange Magic Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverSie/pseuds/SilverSie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairies have particular naming conventions.</p>
<p>For Strange Magic Week Day 6: Babies / The Next Generation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Reminder

The story begins one day, some years past, when the romance between the Bog King and Crown Princess Marianne was still in its fledgling days. The time they could spend together would often be only a few stolen days out of several weeks, the rest of their time spent apart, preoccupied with royal duties and other responsibilities, but always thinking of the other.

It is one of these such lonely days that finds the Bog King near the border. Not that he was there to be close to the Field and to her (even if that was something he would do, _lovesick as he was_ ,) he _actually_ had business on the fringes of the Forest. It is true that the area was now peaceful, but that didn’t prevent trouble from cropping up now and then. Like someone  _digging up primroses_. He hadn’t lifted the ban on the primroses or the potion (and for once, King Dagda agreed wholeheartedly after the whole fiasco,) and the implications of this were a bit unsettling.

In any case, the Bog King was now flying along the border, searching for signs of any other _strange_ activity. At the very least, he would have to send word to the Field about this.

Bog made a sound of mild annoyance (maybe he’ll just write Marianne again instead of to the King) and made to fly back to the castle when he caught a hint of something on the wind. Startled, he spins on his wing, searching the air around him, before suddenly darting across the border, breaking from the treeline. His eyes scan the Field around him, but he sees nothing.

Instead, he finds himself led to a smattering of yellow flowers, dozens of tiny blooms clustered together on each plant. He recognizes it as milfoil– a rather rare plant in his part of the forest, and reaches out to snap off a small bundle of the tiny flowers. He ponders these for a moment before taking flight and returning back to the castle.

* * *

Later that week is when Marianne can next see him, managing to steal a few days with no distractions. She arrives at the castle in the late morning, milling about until his own schedule is free.

 Their day together is spent as usual– catching up on any happenings from the past few weeks and going to any of her favorite sights for some privacy. That evening when they retire to his chamber (she has her own at his castle, of course, and she does use it. Sometimes.) she trails behind by a bit, twisting a bit of moss and ivy into a crown. She raises her head to say something to him, only for her eyes to fall onto a table , on top of which sat a bundle of small, dried, yellow flowers.

 "Oh, Bog, what is–?“ She comes over to it before he can say anything, his wings twitching when she gently picks up the bundle (he had hung it up some days ago, and it dried quite nicely, the stem a pale yellow-green while the flowers stayed vibrant.) Bog pauses at the smile on her face and she speaks again. "How’d you know?”

 He blinks. “Know what?” He walks over to join her, peering down at the bundle in curiosity.

“Yarrow. It’s my favorite.” Very gently she sets it back down, tracing a delicate leaf.

“…it is?”

Now she looks up at him, amused, “Yep. I use the oil for my hair, but I’ve never dried any. Didn’t know you liked such a thing.” She elbows him playfully, making him stammer.

“I’m _not_ – I only picked it because it smelled like–” He stops and her brows raise. “Ah. Well. And now I know why.” He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck and _not_ blushing, really, he wasn’t.

“Oh,” she says simply, her voice small and a soft smile on her face. “I see.”

(he always keeps a small bundle of dried yarrow from that day on, replenishing it when the smell fades, and it serves as the perfect reminder of her when she was away. Even still no matter how sweet the scent, it could never compare to the smell when she throws her arms around him after a long time away, when he buries his face in her hair, never wanting to let go)

* * *

Their first child is born a few cycles later. A daughter, wild and fierce, that Marianne names Calla (this is the agreement– she names a daughter, and he names a son, and if there are to be any more they would switch.) Calla, who is a terror and a wonder with autumn in her hair.

 They don’t believe it could get any more perfect, and then four years on Marianne is with child again. The pregnancy is again long and difficult and nerve-wracking for the both of them, but then a boy is born (they immediately know that he and Calla will be vastly different– his skin is not her milky white but closer to Marianne’s, and where Calla had yet to develop the green hue that all fairies had– if she ever did– their son was born with it, vibrant and mossy all across his back and legs and one arm.)

 Fairy naming conventions are very particular– the name is hardly ever planned before the babe’s birth, instead being chosen usually within a few months, and always before their first birthday. And so just as with Calla, they wait to name him ( _Until what?_ Bog had asked his wife, to which she only replied coyly, _Oh, you’ll just **know**_.) and for a good month he worries that he’ll never come upon the perfect name (it only took Marianne a week to name Calla.)

 Then, one day, his wife’s voice echoes through the castle and nearly sends him into a panic, “ _Bog!_ ”

 It seems to take him all of two seconds to appear at her side and she is giddy with happiness, “His eyes opened!” (Calla had taken just as long to open hers, and Marianne _cried_ when she saw their daughter had his eyes.) “Look, _look_ –” She is bent over the crib watching their son and he joins her, watching just as intently, waiting for the babe’s eyes to open again, when finally–

 His breath catches and Marianne is over the moon with delight, their son looking at them with eyes as golden and bright as summer sun.

 "Bog, look at how _beautiful_ …" She breathes, “Where is Calla? She has to see–”

 He reaches out a gentle hand, his knuckles brushing the petal-soft skin of his son’s face, and a small ( _unbelievably tiny_ ) hand grabs onto his finger. What he says stops Marianne in her tracks, his voice soft but decisive. “Yarrow.”

 She looks at him with wide eyes and a smile spreads over her features like daybreak. “Yeah?” She looks back at her son’s eyes, bright and yellow–

 He nods, practically grinning back at her. “Yeah.”

 Yarrow agreed, giving a giggle at the sight.


End file.
